


Target Practice

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gives Blair a little assistance at the firing range</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Practice

## Target Practice

#### by PB

  
I don't own, but if I ever figure out a way to buy them, you guys will contribute to the fund if I work out some sort of time-share thing, right? I KNOW Aly will!   
Okay, this story was done for the Moonridge auction in 2006, and for some reason I never posted it or any of the others I did for that auction, so this is two years old, folks.   
Anyway, thanks to the lovely lady who bought it, Debbie. Thanks also to my betas (if I leave anybody out, forgive me because, as stated, it's been two years since I wrote this beast). I know Mary beta'd because she does everything of mine, God love her! I think Aly tackled this one, too, and if Patt didn't beta, she at least whipped it into text shape so that I could post it. (Besides, she's always telling me she wants me to do more stories for My Mongoose, and it's nice to be wanted! Smoochies to you, Snoopy Dancer!)   
  
Spoilers for TS By BS, in that Blair's at the academy now, but what fan of the series doesn't know this?!   
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Target Practice -  
PB 

Okay, who knew what a bad idea this could turn out to be? All he had to do was get through firearms training and an accelerated academy program, and Blair Sandburg, defunct academician, would suddenly become _Detective_ Blair Sandburg, _official, permanent_ partner to James Ellison, Cascade P. D. That's how it was supposed to work, anyway. However, the reality left a bit to be desired. 

Blair, the perennial student, succeeded in impressing his instructors with his acumen, and he even made a few friends among the other cadets by offering tutoring sessions in areas where they were having problems. That's how Blair had always handled obnoxious behemoth types, and it worked in the `real world' as well as it ever had in junior high, high school, and his undergrad days. It also didn't hurt that Daryl Banks had started the academy at the same time he did, albeit not in the accelerated program designed for former military types with aptitude, but no procedural training, cops from small towns with no police academy training, but on the job experience, and over-educated police observers who had sacrificed their academic careers in order to protect their sentinels (so, okay, Blair was the only one of the those, but who knew what the future held?). 

Daryl had been ecstatic when Simon had finally allowed his son to enter the academy, at no small amount of urging from Sandburg. The young man really wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, and while the senior Banks was proud (the word peacock comes to mind), he was also scared beyond words that his son was choosing one of the most dangerous career paths around. However, Blair reminded him (at some risk to his personal safety, for Simon really didn't want to be reminded), that as a father, the elder Banks had set a fine example, and it was only natural for a son to want to emulate his dad. It also helped to remind him that, as the son of a well known and respected captain, a lot of people would be looking out for the health and safety of the younger Banks. So it was settled, and Blair started at the academy with a ready-made friend - a very useful thing when it came time to choose partners for the self defense classes. At least each young man had a partner who wouldn't try to grind him into the mat too badly when making a take down. So all was well and good ... except for the shooting portion of the training, which is what had gotten Blair into his current predicament. 

The young cadet had tried every trick in the book to get himself to be able to relax enough to at least get a passing score, all to no avail. His aim sucked; his technique was dismal; his hands trembled when he tried to reload. It was a nightmare. What was so bad was that he couldn't figure out why. At first, he thought it was just his pacifist upbringing, but he remembered being able to shoot before when he and Jim had visited Jim's cousin, Rucker, at his coast guard station. He had shot at real people then, and this was only a paper target. No, it was something else, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Well, it would come to him. Meanwhile, he really had to find a way to get comfortable with the whole shooting thing. 

Sandburg knew he couldn't ask just anybody at the station to help him. Yes, they were his friends, and any of them would have been glad to do it, but he really didn't want any of them to see how truly pathetic he was at it. So that left only Jim. He knew his partner wouldn't laugh at or make fun of him, not about this. Jim Ellison wanted this partnership to work out as much as Blair did. 

The sentinel had been jazzed about it from the beginning. He would finally have his guide around full time. He'd been so solicitous about everything regarding the academy. Did Blair need any help with studying? Should Jim cook even on Blair's nights to do so to give the student extra time to get his homework done? Could Jim show him any procedures, help with any personal problems, run any errands that Blair didn't have time to get to? 

The detective was a whirlwind of helpfulness. So far, Blair had availed himself of very little, wanting to succeed completely on his own. However, this shooting thing was beyond him. He needed help, and he knew Jim would relish the chance to provide it. That was how they came to be at the target range after everyone else had gone home. That was also where things started to get out of control. 

~~o)0O0(o~~ 

"Okay, Sandburg, just put your feet right up against mine," Jim instructed, patiently. The two men were standing in front of a waist high wall, with partitions on either side to block out the distraction of shooters in other lanes. At the far end of the lane was a paper target with the crude outline of a man's upper torso and head. Fortunately, since it was ten o'clock at night, there were no other shooters there to practice. Jim had arranged for the privacy with a buddy of his who worked at the target range, thinking Blair could concentrate better without anyone ogling his progress. 

Blair was facing the short wall and, farther down the lane, the target, with Jim at his back. Jim had his feet spread apart a little farther than necessary for firing stance so that Blair could put his own feet parallel to Jim's, touching them with the outsides of Blair's feet against the insides of Jim's. This position put the front of Ellison's body almost entirely pressed against Sandburg's back - almost because Jim angled his hips slightly to keep them from making contact with his partner's backside. The sentinel knew how his body would respond with this proximity, and he didn't need his guide even more nervous than he already was. Besides, the last thing he needed was to try and come up with a reasonable explanation for a raging erection with his partner as the only possible stimulus. 

He didn't think Blair would be angry or frightened at the prospect, but he did know the younger man wouldn't be interested. That would make living together more than a little uncomfortable. Jim could just see the pitying and apologetic glances from Blair every time the young man went out on a date. No, Jim could handle the unrequited love thing as long as his roommate didn't know about it. So he studiously kept his rapidly hardening cock from coming into contact with the firm, well-rounded ass that seemed to be calling to it. That was proving a more and more difficult task as time passed. 

"Got it, Jim," Blair replied. He glanced down at his feet to make sure they were in the proper position next to Jim's. Then he swallowed convulsively. Ellison's nearness was making him crazy. The man's incredibly well muscled torso was practically molded to Blair's frame. It was intoxicating, but it was decidedly _not_ conducive to intense attention to the target. Blair was expending entirely too much concentration on trying to control his bodily reactions. At this proximity, the sentinel would be able to sense his arousal, and that simply could not be allowed to happen. Blair Sandburg had given up his entire career, and if Jim knew how he felt about the big cop, Blair's second chance would be gone too. He'd also be out on his butt, looking for a place to live, with no job and no prospects for one. That would be less than pleasant. However, the matter was rapidly getting out of Blair's control. 

"Okay, now bring the weapon up in front of you and straighten out your elbows. Now cup the left hand under the right like I showed you earlier," Jim recited his litany of instructions, running his hands along Blair's arms to demonstrate how his elbows should be held, leaving his palms resting on the younger man's shoulders when finished. "Good," he praised. "Now you've got a good stance going there." As Jim spoke, he took note of the accelerated breathing and excessive perspiration of his partner. `Gee, the kid must really be stressed about learning how to do this,' Ellison thought. `I hope it's just because he's afraid of not doing well and not anything more. He said he could handle the idea of carrying a gun and being a cop now. Was he just saying that to make me happy, to give me what I need? Is it really scaring him this much?' he continued to ponder, becoming more and more concerned. 

Then suddenly, his super sensitive nose picked up on something else - a scent. While there was underlying fear, the predominant odor wafting from his guide's pores was ... arousal! It couldn't be! Blair wanted him, maybe even more than want - maybe love. If Jim Ellison, dissertation subject extraordinaire, had learned one thing, it was that theories must be tested. So for the good of science (and James Ellison's future sex life), the muscled cop decided to put his own little theory to the test. Rolling his shoulders forward a bit, he brought even more of his body into contact with Blair's, but he also placed his lips right next to his guide's ear, and when he spoke, he deliberately took on a sexier, breathier quality to his voice. 

"That's it, Chief," he purred, the gust of air from his exhalation caressing the shell of Blair's sensitive ear. The younger man shuddered noticeably, and not in a bad way. Ellison smiled like the predator his spirit animal was. "You're getting it," he persisted in the exquisite torture, noting Sandburg's increased heart rate, not to mention the respirations, which were now coming in little pants. "You comfortable?" he asked solicitously, knowing the answer, whether his partner admitted it or not. Blair's eyelids fluttered slightly and he gulped audibly. 

"Yeah, Jim," he replied, voice only cracking a little on the first word. "Um, I'm good." Blair knew there was no way he was going to be able to hit that target. He couldn't believe Jim hadn't been able to sense the dance his vital signs had been doing for the last several minutes. `He must have his senses dialed way down,' Blair surmised absently. At that moment, Jim's hands were removed from their resting place on Blair's shoulders to a slightly more intimate position on the young guide's hips, the fingers tightening a bit as Ellison pulled his partner back a couple of inches. 

As he was nudging Blair's hips back toward him, Jim was pivoting his own hips forward, having decided to put his partner and himself out of their misery. Jim so deftly made his move that it took Blair a moment to register that he now had a very hard part of James Ellison's anatomy in his back pocket, so to speak. There was no mistaking the erection pressing solidly against his hind quarters. That could only mean one thing. Jim wanted him! As blood rushed with renewed vigor to his own cock, already half hard from the previous stimulation, Blair thought it might be possible for a man to faint from an erection - his entire body's blood volume seemed to be rushing south, leaving nothing to feed the brain. Still facing away from the man, Blair leaned his weight against Jim. The older man took it willingly. 

"Oh, God, Jim," Blair began breathlessly. "What are you doing?" he finished with a groan. 

"Just trying to help you relax, Chief," Jim responded with a chuckle. Blair whirled in his arms, nearly dropping the gun in the process. 

"What?!" he exclaimed. His look of shocked hurt nearly undid Ellison. 

"Whoa, easy there, Buddy," the older man placated. "I was just kidding.." He took the weapon from Blair's nerveless grasp and placed it on the wall. Then he cupped his partner's face in his large hands. "This is real, and I'm not playing a game with you," he spoke quietly, almost with reverence. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here because I don't know how you feel, but I love you, Blair. I have for a very long time." 

Blair closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "I can't believe this is happening, man." His eyes opened again and filled with indescribable joy. "You don't know how many times I've dreamed about you saying that." He paused, looked into Jim's soul through his eye's icy depths, and then continued. "I love you, too, Jim. I always have." 

Jim lowered his head and met Blair's lips with his own. The kiss began as a gentle whisper of soft flesh on flesh, but as mouths opened and tongues escaped their confines it escalated to a roar of passionate abandon. It became a duel for supremacy where even the loser won the day. 

Jim's hands abandoned his love's face for more exotic locales. He kneaded the younger man's ass with his left hand and palmed Blair's cock through the jeans with his right. With admirable dexterity, given his current aroused-beyond-reason condition, Jim unbuttoned Blair's jeans, slid the zipper down, and reached inside to find the prize in the Cracker Jack box. The prize was long, thick, and irrefutably hard. He curled his fingers around the piece of obsidian sheathed in velvet skin and began to stroke, alternately relaxing and tightening his grip to provide a steady rhythm. Apparently the sensation was somewhat pleasant, given that Blair Sandburg, long-time academic and master of words, had suddenly gone non-verbal - not non-vocal, as he was making all manner of noises with his mouth and throat, from guttural moans to panting shouts, but even monosyllabic verbiage was currently beyond his level of skill. Jim would have sworn Sandburg would be a talker during sex. Live and learn. 

Of course, it didn't matter that Blair couldn't speak. What he was doing with his hands alone was enough to send Ellison into orgasmic oblivion for a whole month. Elegant, knowing fingers seemed to find and exploit all of the sentinel's most elusive erogenous zones. He had never known the patch of skin just beneath his collar bone was so sensitive, but was it ever. When Blair supplanted fingers with lips and teeth in that spot, it nearly sent the older man to the moon and back again. However, the nimble digits didn't stop there. They soon traveled to Jim's nipples, and again Blair's lips and teeth gently followed the questing, teasing little probes of pleasure. 

As Blair's hands were on their way to unfasten his partner's pants to find whatever treasure trove awaited him there, Jim's rhythmic strokes to the guide's cock finally took their toll, making Blair yelp in a cascade of sensation as he came harder than he could remember in ages. He never did manage to get the sentinel's pants open because Jim, upon witnessing the strength of his new lover's completion tumbled headlong into an orgasmic abyss of his own. He hadn't ejaculated in his pants since high school. If this was just the beginning of their relationship, he only hoped he could survive its evolution. If he couldn't, though, what a way to go .... 

They went home after taking a few minutes to recover and kiss and grope a bit. Later that night at the loft, they retired to the big bed upstairs and proceeded to thoroughly love the stuffing out of one another. The next day, Jim took him back to the range and worked with him on his shooting. Though both men sustained erections during the entire tutoring session, Blair's technique improved dramatically, and he soon felt himself ready for his test. 

~~o)0O0(o~~ 

"Jim, I think I have a problem," Blair began after entering the loft and closing the door. Ellison was suddenly worried. His partner was supposed to have taken his test at the firing range today, and he was talking about problems. Had they not worked together enough? He thought they had; Blair's shooting had been first rate by the time they were done. Did he freeze up? Did he subconsciously not want to be a cop and this was just a way of sabotaging it? Well, whatever happened they would get through it. They were lovers now, and that would see them through any obstacles they had to face. 

"What happened, Chief? Was it your test?" he inquired gently, trying to impart to Blair that whatever the problem was, they would face it together. 

"No, man, the test went fine," he smiled brightly then, remembering the _good_ news and wanting to share that with Jim before he gave the older man the _bad_. "In fact, I got the best grouping in the class." He beamed at his older partner. 

"Alright!!" Jim yelled, picking his partner up in a hug and swinging him around once, and then depositing him back on his feet. Blair let out a throaty laugh at his lover's antics, glad he could make the usually stoic detective lose control somewhere other than bed (or couch, or dining table, or shower ...). Coming back to reality, Jim sobered, but kept his smile. "So what could possibly be wrong?" 

"Well, it's a little embarrassing, man, but ... after what we did at the firing range the other night ... I can't seem to draw my gun without getting a hard-on now." 

With a Cheshire cat grin, Jim replied, "Oops." Then he pounced. 

The End 

* * *

End 

Target Practice by PB: shelleybear@earthlink.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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